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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26165266">Acta Non Verba</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/heyimflamel/pseuds/heyimflamel'>heyimflamel</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Ao no Exorcist | Blue Exorcist</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Abrupt Ending, Betrayal, Brotherly Love, Character Study, Confused Okumura Rin, Dyslexic Okumura Rin, Existential Crisis, Feelings, Gen, Gratituous Use of Italics, Light Angst, Okumura Rin Needs a Hug, Okumura Rin is a Good Brother, Protector Okumura Rin, Sad Okumura Rin, Whump, brief mentions of religion, he's trying his best, kind of, you'll see - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 04:13:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,304</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26165266</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/heyimflamel/pseuds/heyimflamel</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Fujimoto Shirou &amp; Okumura Rin, Okumura Rin &amp; Okumura Yukio</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>114</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Acta Non Verba</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Rin was always a protector.</p><p>Long before hellish blue flames licked beneath his skin waiting to get out, before he would learn the art of the sword and swung the blade, he would stand up and fight with his fists alone. He would spit words of venom, acid dripping from his pores and blood running down his knuckles. Purple and blue and black all bloomed on his hands, but he was never much concerned with that.</p><p>Where most saw an uncontrollable fury in this boy, saw the flames that simmered beneath before he knew that they existed, saw the bruises and the blood and the bandages and the <em> delinquent </em> before they saw his soul, others saw the courage. They saw the bravery to stand up for those who couldn’t and to fight for those who never would, saw the kindness that fuelled the fury, saw the shield made of flames and saw the battle scars as trophies, as medals of what he had accomplished, of the people he had protected before, and saw the heart of gold and kindness and compassion and <em> the soul </em> before they saw the delinquent.</p><p>Rin was always a protector.</p><p>Even when his body, bruised and beaten, made him want to scream out in pain, he still found the strength to punch and kick and yell at those who hurt his precious ones. He would go home with cuts and scrapes marring his skin, dried blood on his clothes and an ache in his muscles because he simply <em> would not </em> stand for someone calling his little brother a freak. Where many feared his tenacity and his drive to fight and protect, the raw passion and fury boiling in the ocean of his eyes, his family would patch up the wounds and see the practised apathy and poised calm rippling beneath the surface.</p><p>So, yeah, Rin was always a protector.</p><p>———-</p><p>It began when he and Yukio were just four years old. His brother had needed glasses, their father muttering with a doctor about weak eyesight, and kids could be mean. So, so mean. In fact, Rin decided kids were the meanest, brattiest people on the planet.</p><p>Their first and last mistake was bullying his little brother. Although Yukio was only minutes younger than him, he was always the more emotional twin— the crybaby, the sensitive one. Rin didn’t see a problem with it himself. It just meant that his little bro was a little sadder than others and that he cared a bit too much when other people got hurt. There was nothing wrong with that. Apparently, the other kids didn’t think so.</p><p>Rin caught them taunting Yukio. Comments were thrown about mocking his glasses, calling him “four-eyes” and laughing at him when he teared up. A pure, unadulterated fury filled Rin’s little four-year-old body. He didn’t remember much of what happened if he was being honest. He remembered the ferocity and ruthlessness of his punches; remembered the snarl that did not sound even a little bit human escaping his lips; remembered the ache of his knuckles and his pulsing wrist, which somehow only fuelled his rage; remembered the blood and the fear and someone on the tail end of a <em> “bully my brother again and you’ll regret it!” </em></p><p>He grew older. Yukio grew into himself, gaining the awe and praise of peers and teachers alike, just like how Rin knew he deserved. He wanted to scream out, <em> ‘yes! That’s my brother! This is what you have all been missing all this time! This is my little brother!’ </em> and tell them how wrong and cruel they had been to him in their youth. As Yukio grew up, more charismatic and intelligent and handsome than he seemed to know, Rin grew up with him. Not as quickly. Not nearly as polite or as courteously kind as his brother, not as attractive or liked or responsible. Definitely not as smart, not when the words danced across the pages of textbooks and blackboards like petals caught in the wind.</p><p>Rin grew up with a reputation. Always fighting. Always skipping school. Always angry. Always the burden to his successful younger twin. Father Fujimoto would tell him that he was too hot-headed, that he cared too much about things he couldn’t control and cared too little about things he could. Fujimoto would always send him to the pews to pray, where Rin would pick up one of the old bibles and hymn books that were a little torn on the edges. The other priests would fumble about, cleaning and sweeping or whatever else they were usually doing while Rin would pray.</p><p><em> Is it wrong? </em> He would ask, knelt with his forehead leaning on his clasped hands. <em> Is it wrong to want to stop someone from causing suffering? Is it wrong to leave a place I can’t understand to want to stop another tragedy? Tell me, Lord, why have you forsaken me? </em> And he would ask, and ask, and ask, and gain no answers. Even as the candles were being snuffed out and people came and went, Rin had a thousand questions and no answers. <em> Tell me, my Lord, are you even real? </em></p><p>Some days, Rin wouldn’t come home until dinner was half-finished. The dinner table was always quiet when he got back and Yukio would always be wearing a thoughtful yet sad sort of expression to go along with his soft sweaters. Father Fujimoto would be calm and cool, a masterful poker face masking his true feelings. As soon as he stepped through the door, though, Yukio would smile and Fujimoto would grin and jeer. The other priests would laugh and tease him. Things would be good again. Even if he did have to triple check his face and neck for bruises before he walked back to the monastery, even if he had to hide split knuckles to make sure Yukio didn’t frown and sigh, even if he had to be the fuck-up, at least his family were protected. At least Yukio was protected.</p><p>That was all that mattered to Rin. He was always a protector.</p><p>——— </p><p>The older Okumura twin wasn’t good at much. He wasn’t good at school, still. The lines and swoops of kanji shuffled and switched places often when he looked at them, and just as he thought he might be reading the word correctly he found a line wiggling when it shouldn’t be, or a missing sign just after it. Some kanji were too difficult, too similar for him to notice the difference, so he didn’t use the kanji and switched to hiragana instead.</p><p>He wasn’t good at making friends. That was okay, though, because all he needed were the priests at the monastery and Yukio, anyway. Friends could only distract him from doing what he was supposed to be doing. Protecting his family. He wasn’t good at sports, not really. He heard some teachers and kids talk about how he was a fast runner, and that if he really tried he could probably be part of the baseball team or the volleyball team, or that he could run cross-country for the school, but he didn’t really want to. Another distraction. Another thing to fight over, really.</p><p>He wasn’t good at cooking at first, either. Rin worked hard to learn how to do it from a young age. He would stand on a stool in front of the old gas stove at the monastery, roll up his sleeves and work away on some dish. The first things he made were omelettes. They were horrible; undercooked, still runny in some places, and so peppery it made his tongue itch just thinking about them. Yet, Shiro ate them all and told him <em> “better luck next time, brat!” </em> He was never kicked out of the kitchen.</p><p>So, Rin worked and worked and worked away in the kitchen. Another omelette, a couple of failed attempts at a stew or soup or whatever else he was doing. Another thing he had to learn through trial and error, like how rice and spaghetti could stick to the bottom of the pot so he had to make sure to stir every couple of minutes. Rin cooked, and failed, learned from his mistakes, and cooked again until it was perfect.</p><p>Rin was good at cooking. He wonders sometimes if cooking, providing for his family, was another part of protecting that he implemented early on. On the good days, he’ll say that he wanted to learn it to help out. On the bad days, he thinks that he was trying to prove himself worthy of being surrounded by so many compassionate, kind people when he could never be a fraction as good as they are.</p><p>———</p><p>He thought it was just another spat. The guy was hurting pigeons for no reason, and okay, maybe he <em> did </em> get a little too heated because of it, but so what? Wasn’t life sacred, to be protected? He wasn’t just going to let it go and turn the other cheek for senseless cruelty. It was <em> wrong </em>.</p><p>Then everything went so, so wrong so quickly that Rin was kind of annoyed that he was so stupid. Everything flew right over his head and he <em> hated it </em> because the old man was suddenly a high-ranking exorcist, demons were <em> real </em> (like actual, evil demons from hell that sort of floated around without anyone noticing?) and now the monastery was being prepped for something— Rin was the son of <em> Satan </em> ? All those people, when he was younger, calling him a demon were actually <em> right? </em> —and he wanted everything to stop so he could process this, damn it!</p><p>It turns out that all this time, the old man was the one protecting them. Parents are usually supposed to protect their kids, right? So why did the thought of being protected make Rin want to hurl and cry and shout and <em> scream </em> bloody words at the world just ‘cause he could? Why did it make him feel like he was gasping for air? Like a rope was tightening around his neck so quickly he couldn’t even bring his hands up to loosen it? Why did it make him feel like the world, which he had carried so masterfully on his shoulders for his brother, was crushing him beneath it? Why? Why why why why <em> why </em>?</p><p>As it turns out, Rin wasn’t <em> always </em> the protector. But, God, he wished that he was.</p><p>——— </p><p>Rin was always a protector.</p><p>He didn’t know how true that statement was now because it turns out Shiro was protecting him, of all people. From his heritage. From demons. From himself. But, Goddammit, he couldn’t even protect Shiro— no, his <em> father </em> from anything. He was useless! Completely, utterly useless! He couldn’t do a single thing against Satan and Rin couldn’t believe that he had just watched as that fucking <em> demon </em> actually <em> possessed </em> his father and— and the Gehenna gate— the demons— he thought holy water could kill demons so why did it do nothing against the gate?</p><p>Everything just got flipped inside out, outside in and he <em> hated it </em> because dammit, he was the protector. He was always the one protecting others and now his father— the old man— <em> Shiro </em> just— he couldn’t protect him. He had a sword. He could have done something, but he stood there and fucking watched his father <em> die </em> . Rin watched Shiro die for his shitty life and it was. It was all his fault. It was his fault because if he hadn’t picked a fight with that guy, he wouldn’t have been possessed. Then his powers would not have awakened. Shiro would be alive and Satan wouldn’t have sniffed him out, he would not have told Shiro those <em> stupid fucking lies </em> and he would still <em> be here </em>.</p><p>Instead… Instead, he’s dead. And damn, did it make Rin feel like every organ he had was ripped out of him and crushed in front of his eyes until those were crushed too because he was supposed to be the <em> protector </em>. As it turns out, all Rin has been doing is bringing even more threats to his little brother and the monastery.</p><p>Rin thought he was always the protector. Turns out he was always a demon instead.</p><p>——— </p><p>Rin wanted to gouge his eyes out with a plastic spoon. Make it all the worse when the spoon shatters inside his eye socket. He wished he could blame it all on God (if he even existed) because what kind of “all-loving”, “all-powerful” God would allow something like this to happen to one of his devoted disciples? To one of his priests? It made Rin sick to think that such a powerful entity would simply stand by and watch as Shiro was possessed by Satan and killed as a result.</p><p>Now that he thinks about it, God would have to have a very twisted sense of humour to be able to watch humans destroy each other time and time again. Rin wondered, vaguely, if the existence of demons and Satan proved or disproved the existence of a God. On one hand, many religious scriptures mentioned demons to be the opposite of angels: attractive, evil, manipulative. Satan and God were reflections of one another in many as well.</p><p>The yin-yang concept of good not being able to exist without evil and vice versa also supported this. But, then, would God not have purged the world of all evil if he was as all-powerful as they say? Would God not rid the world of disease, if he loved humans so much? With so much evil in the world, and now the existence of <em> Satan </em>, of all things, being confirmed, was God even real?</p><p>Rin wished he could say that he believed like he used to. He wished he could say that he believed in a God just as Shiro and the other priests in the monastery did. Just as Yukio did. He wished his faith could remain strong, but then… Would God allow something as heinous as him to exist? Satan’s spawn? Why did he not put an end to him when he had the chance? He supposed Yukio was also Satan’s spawn, but yet, Rin couldn’t bring himself to believe that his little brother could ever become as intrinsically <em> wrong </em> as he was.</p><p>Rin was still grappling with the fact that he will never hear the old man’s voice again. He’ll never hear the familiar, <em> “welcome home, brat! Getting into fights again?” </em> Never see Shiro’s contagious, wide grin or hear his obnoxious laugh. He’ll never see Shiro wearing his robes and rosary and wonder if he ever washed the thing or whether he had many different sets of them for each day of the week. He will never again wake up, make breakfast and set the table for father Fujimoto. He won’t get to hear the old man’s perverted jeers, or see the disapproving lilt to his gaze when Rin got home from another fight, or see the pride and joy he had in boundless amounts for Yukio, or see the resigned acceptance on his face when Rin brought back another bad grade from school.</p><p>He would never see Shiro taste a new recipe he learnt. Would never see Shiro lead a service with the charisma, humour and charm that seemed to ooze from his every pore. He would never get to bring a person back home to meet Fujimoto. Would never get to freak out about his wedding to him over the phone. Would never wait at the altar and see his father in a yukata, smirking at him as if he could smell his nerves from where he stood. He would never get to have his first drink with his dad. He would never get to tell him all about his new job, or the person he was interested in, and he would never get to brag about getting his drivers license.</p><p>Shiro would miss all of Yukio and Rin’s lives. He would never get to see Yukio graduate from medical school and get his diploma. He would never get to read or watch or hear about Yukio’s success as a doctor. He would never get to boast about how talented and skilled his youngest son was. He would never see Yukio get married, probably to a sweet girl. He would never see his grandkids. Would never be able to spoil his grandchildren, play with them or tell them his terrible jokes.</p><p>Shiro was going to miss their sixteenth birthday. And their seventeenth. Eighteenth. Nineteenth. Twentieth. Twenty-first. Thirtieth. Fortieth. Fiftieth. He was going to miss all of their birthdays, the drinking, the graduating, the weddings. He was going to miss Yukio’s life. Rin’s much less successful life. He was going to miss all of these important milestones.</p><p>And it was all Rin’s fault.</p><p>——— </p><p>Rin was always a protector.</p><p>He told himself this like a mantra, every morning when he woke up and every evening before he went to bed. He repeated it all night when he couldn’t sleep and every ticking second that passed after he awoke from another nightmare. He would stare at his reflection, at his pointed ears and pointed fangs (terrible reminders that all he was was a filthy <em> demon </em>), and say the words as he brushed his teeth and washed his face. He would think and think and think about them in an endless loop as he made breakfast, lunch and dinner, ate, put his shoes on, walked, sat in class.</p><p>Rin thought that if he repeated them so incessantly then maybe, just maybe, the words would come true. That maybe they would take him back to a time when he <em> was </em> the protector; when Yukio wore his nice sweaters and the priests laughed and teased him and when Shiro was <em> alive </em> and <em> healthy </em> and when <em> his heart was still beating </em>. He thought that maybe now, he could distract himself with those words and put his all into protecting Yukio. Into protecting his younger twin. The only one he really had now, in this cold and lonely world. So, he talked and talked and talked.</p><p>Rin was always a protector. He hoped it would come true someday.</p><p>——— </p><p>As expected, Yukio was popular. Rin felt something warm and content curl in his chest, his newfound flames humming happily beneath his skin. Which, <em> wow </em>, his flames have feelings? They are sentient? It was weird, and Rin was still grappling with the fact he even had these cursed flames in the first place, so having an extra set of emotions? Yeah, definitely didn’t sign up for that. Ever. Would never sign up for it, actually, because having one set of emotions was stressful enough.</p><p>Anyway, the older Okumura felt an odd sense of pride, seeing his little brother be so well-liked and admired already at True Cross. He could still remember the days when Yukio was shy, always avoiding eye contact and flushing at even the slightest hint of praise. He could remember the awkward shuffling and wringing of his hands when he asked for things so clearly that Rin had to remind himself that they were both almost sixteen now. </p><p>Classes were, as expected, frustrating. He tried his best to take notes but he missed some words out, he knows, because his eyes skipped over the ones that vibrated too intensely or half-melted into some other word too much for him to understand clearly. He couldn’t tell Yukio about it, especially because it was his fault that Shiro died. It was his fault that Yukio always had this curse trailing behind him. All his fault. Besides, Yukio had enough to deal with. His little twin brother would become a great doctor, Rin was sure of it, so he could not afford to have any distractions. Especially ones as stupid as not being able to read.</p><p>Then, as it turns out, Yukio is an exorcist. And his cram school teacher. It turns out that Yukio has been an exorcist for <em> years </em> , fighting these demons with their father while Rin was back at the monastery, unassuming, sleeping peacefully while his brother was putting his <em> life on the line </em> and it made something deep inside Rin burn ugly, dark and hot. It makes Rin feel like everything is so much more intense and loud but at the same time, everything is suddenly silent and suffocating, barely keeping the older Okumura grounded in reality as each touch was numb against his flesh, because Yukio <b>could have died</b> and Rin was just sleeping dead and <em> not protecting </em> his younger twin like a <em> good </em> older brother <em> should be </em>— </p><p>He waited to yell and scream because it felt like a thick, wide collar was clasped tight around his throat, cold and unforgiving of even the slightest movement. It felt like his body had been drenched in the icy, deadly cold water of the Atlantic, threatening to pull him under into its blue-black prison, but it also felt like his body had been overtaken completely by hellfire so hot and bright his skin was permanently sweaty and sticky and blistering from its intensity. He could feel something lodge in his throat, and he faintly humoured the idea that the fabled hanahaki disease might work for heartbreak just as well. If it did, Rin had no doubt in his mind that he would be spitting purple hyacinths and have red dahlias spilling down his chin...</p><p>
  <b>[Purple hyacinths; symbolising remorse and regret, expressing the bearer’s sadness and asking forgiveness.</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Red dahlias; symbolising betrayal and dishonesty.]</b>
</p><p>...because Rin felt so utterly <em> betrayed. </em> All these years, he had spent deluding himself into thinking that he was protecting father Fujimoto, and the other priests at the monastery, and Yukio most of all. The older twin curled his fingers into fists. They played him for a <em> fool </em> all this time, and Yukio didn’t even think about telling him even once. Where was the trust? The honesty that Shiro preached about every sermon? Did they think he would lash out at them the moment he found out? Jeer and taunt and tease? Did they think that they could keep this away from him forever? Judging by the fact that everything was so short notice and his brother’s nasty glower, he has to suppress the urge to laugh, because <em> of course, </em> they would try to keep this from him.</p><p>Why should he expect any less, honestly? Though he knew no roses would be climbing their way up his throat, he felt the barbed stems tear through it all the same. Rin’s bitter thoughts got the better of him because he wondered spitefully how his brother could turn around and call him the demon when he, himself, had all the vices of one. Rin may have the pointed ears and sharp canines and hellish flames, but Yukio had the manipulative nature and sin needed. He tried to shut down the thought near-instantly, because his brother hadn’t <em> sinned </em> as far as he knew, but then…</p><p>Then Rin was greeted by an empty classroom and the business end of a gun pointed right at him. Yukio was on the other end. Something ugly and jaded twisted in his chest, wanting to break free and lash out, but the older Okumura stamped it down and gripped the kouma sword tighter.</p><p>He supposed “thou shall not kill”, Exodus 20:13, did not apply when it came to demons.</p><p>——— </p><p>Rin hurled in the bathrooms at the old dorms he was staying at with his brother on the evening of their first day. When did it ever come to this? When did little five-year-old Yukio, who was always so afraid yet so in awe of his older twin, become the cold and calculating exorcist that turned his gun on Rin as if he were another demon to kill?</p><p>When did the Okumura twins, attached at the hip from birth, become as distant as two stars in a constellation?</p><p>The bitter, spiteful fury raged on like a storm inside him still; a sandstorm, a snowstorm, any kind of storm you could think of all rolled into one big catastrophe that brewed and churned ceaselessly. All he ever wanted to do was protect his family— not Satan, <em> never </em> Satan, because Shiro Fujimoto was his father, not <em> that guy </em> —and it turns out he couldn’t even do a good job at that. What was he even good for, then? Cooking? Anyone can learn that with enough practice. Fighting? Seemed to do him and those around him more harm than good, especially since it was useless anyway.</p><p>Shiro, Yukio, and the others didn’t need him as their protector all along. All he’s been causing them is trouble and pain. He wasn’t protecting them from bullies or the monsters that went bump in the night. He wasn’t protecting them from the evil in the world, like the burglars and pickpockets he would see and try to stop on his way home. Rin was a nuisance all along, it seemed, and the thought of it made him want to vomit again and again and again until there was nothing left.</p><p>But, fuck, it sat so wrongly in Rin to be the one protected. It made him want to move around and squirm and fight it so badly because <em> he’s </em> the older twin. He should be the one protecting <em> Yukio </em>, not the other way around. Not in this twisted inversion of what he thought he knew. Not like this. Never like this. Yukio shouldn’t have been made to grow up so soon. He should have never been exposed to demons and guns and death so early on in his life. Where was Rin then? Where was he, when Yukio was fighting for his life against demons? Where was he when it really mattered?</p><p>At home, sleeping soundly, that’s where. He hated it. He hated it so much.</p>
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